For days unmeasured, the elevator doors whispered a promise of transit, a motion intended but perpetually paused. Inside, an unspoken agreement of silence unfolded like ancient mariner stars, tethered voyages inscribed silently upon ambered time.
Engulfed in reflections heavy as never poured seas, the mind circulates corridors of thought, echoing like distant ocean waves. They say silence harbors its own mysteries, yet here I stand, constantly renewing my acquaintance with the unknown—that which hums tenderly beneath the skin of reality, where unmade decisions thrall as specters.
Amber thoughts, in crystalline solid repose, ask not of time, but where